


Pete's Dragon

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: A family sometimes comes from unexpected places.For my sister.





	

He was a quiet, soft-spoken man. Did an affair have an anniversary? Catriona Duke pretended to nod off, but she never stayed overnight. Especially in the middle of the season, a hotel counted as home. When she got out of the bed, he handed her a pair of black unmentionables, his head still turned the other way. 

“Mr. Davies.” She slipped them on. 

“You’re leaving your own room?” His voice got muffled by the pillow. He was a sports writer for the Daily Prophet, a good one, though he kept his head down. “Come back to bed.” 

“You’re not allowed in here.” She sat down on the bed and closed her eyes at his touch. She laid back down because it was just after five. The others had partied after the win and she’d called it an early night for this. George Davies claimed he followed the Scottish National team because he had a good inside source, yet they rarely acknowledged each other outside of a bedroom. She whimpered, losing her resolve again, and cried out when he used the right moves. “George.” 

“What? How’s the boy?” George asked about his son at the strangest times and commented on him like the weather. He didn’t flinch or panic when she said something about them finding out about the other one. Kirley was five, sweet and curious about the world. “Marry me.” 

“No. I need more.” She kissed him back. “Not this. We’ve been together for seven years. And you want to marry me? Why now?” 

“You’re having my baby.” 

“I have your baby, George. He’s a boy who never sees his father.” Catriona shook her head, not buying the same old line again. Although she kept coming back to him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he hid something from her. He muttered under his breath. She wouldn’t be able to hide from the team much longer, and she held the Captaincy which meant she set an example. She got dressed again when someone banged on the door. The house-elf sounded harassed. “Coming.” 

George hid in the wardrobe. Not for the first time, Catriona found herself wishing she’d bothered with the new line of birth control potions, for they seemed to help others, and this would give her more freedom. When she answered the door a thin, fair-haired woman with grey eyes demanded to see her husband. 

“Your husband?” 

“Where’s George?” she demanded, tapping her foot. Catriona stepped aside when this woman said she had three small children at home. Catriona knew she'd catch it for having a man in her room, but this woman must surely be mistaken. George Davies wore no wedding band and waited for Catriona to retire to tie the knot. “George!” 

“I think you have the wrong room,” said Catriona. 

“Marianne.” George came out of the bathroom and dismissed the house-elf. He strode over, furious, and slammed the door. 

“Marianne?” Catriona froze, shaking her head apologetically at woman. George called after her, but Catriona felt suffocated and couldn’t stand to be in the same room with this man. “Is it true? She’s your wife? Three children?”  
“Catriona.” George took a step forward. 

“Oh, my God.” Catriona grabbed her things and got out of there. 

She left her keys on the table and caught the lift before George had a prayer of catching up with her. People had opened their doors to see what all the fuss was about, but she held her head high until the grilles clanged shut. George Davies had insisted they give their son her surname, Duke, and had promised to marry her time and time again. 

She went onto the second floor and knocked on the door. “Kirley. It’s me.” 

Catriona rapped on the door until he got up because the boy was a heavy sleeper. She tried not to sound impatient. He come out dressed in pinstriped pajamas and bunny slippers. His untidy long hair fell around his shoulders. Why hadn't she shared a room with him? If she had to drag him along on tournaments, people would’ve expected her to stay with her little boy. This room had two separate single beds. Feeling nauseous, she went into the bathroom and bent over the toilet. Nothing happened. 

“There is always a wife, you fool.” 

She got up and spoke to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. How could she have been so careless? George had never, ever meant to marry her. Weren’t there always signs, and how had she missed them? Catriona splashed water in her face. She’d gone straight into the reserves for the Scottish National team after her eighteenth birthday. Until quiet George showed up with his smile and his looks, she’d been completely owned by the league. 

“Mummy?” Kirley called from inside the bedroom. 

And she traveled around with a bastard boy playing Quidditch and chasing empty promises. Catriona took a moment to gather herself and plastered a smile on her face. Kirley favored her, although the mop of curly locks surprised her as much as anyone the day he was born. She picked up her boy and plopped him on the bed. 

Kirley laughed whenever she did this because she played around with the idea and made rushing noises. She threw him in the air, having him kick out, and caught him. 

“I love you.” She brushed his hair out of his eyes and shifted him in her arms. Catriona opened the window and relaxed when she felt the cool breeze. “I’ll always love you. Are you tired?” 

Catriona doubted this because he went to bed at eight. Well, tonight’s match had run over until nine, but he was up for the morning. He said he was hungry. Catriona was starving, too. Kirley got dressed and raced her to the lift. She shushed him, laughing, and cupped a hand over his mouth. She met a teary eyed Mrs. Davies in the lift. 

“Oh, God.” Catriona stared at her feet and grabbed Kirley’s hand. Kirley said good morning. 

“It’s barely morning,” said Mrs. Davies, speaking barely above a whisper. She caught peeks, Catriona noticed, no doubt trying to find her husband in this child. She’d have one hell of job finding him. “Who’s your father? Where is he?”  
Catriona wished she’d melt into the wall. She force fed Kirley these lies, and they were pretty good, but he’d never actually been put to the test. 

“Seamus.” Kirley, thankfully, gave the correct answer. “He’s in the Air Force.” 

“What’s that?” Mrs. Davies addressed Catriona. 

“The RAF?” Catriona gaped at her, incredulous, until she remembered she was a military brat. “It’s Muggle military defense for the skies. He’s stationed in Cyprus. ” 

“When did last come home?” Mrs. Davies glanced at her when she shut up. “You’re pregnant. It’s in your face.” 

“Oh, er,” Catriona paused, counting back in a hurry. “This summer? Yeah. Kirley, go.” 

Catriona followed him into the canteen. Of course, the boy asked after his father, and she had to continue with her lies. The house-elves didn’t start serving until six. The head coach of the Scottish team, Mr. Ferguson, sat there with his full breakfast and asked the house-elves to break the rules. Of course, given that house-elves liked to serve and serve, they prepared large plates without complaints. 

“Little Cat.” Mr. Ferguson waved her over to his table. Catriona hated this nickname, though she dealt with it. “You and Peter read each other’s minds? I’ve never seen a Keeper and a Chaser so in sync. What’s going on there?”  
“I can’t share that without Peter.” She handed Kirley some wrapped silverware. 

“Peter needs all of you like that.” Mr. Ferguson sliced his large chocolate muffin in half and shared it with Kirley. “You’re going to take us to nationals. Quidditch Qualifications in April. We’ve got out eyes on it, right? Maybe the World Cup.” 

“No, Mr. Ferguson.” Catriona sliced open her egg and soaked up yolk with her toast. She quelled under his look. He asked why. “I’ll be having a baby.” 

Mr. Ferguson shook his head, sure he’d heard incorrectly. He jerked his head at Kirley, not longer friendly with him. “Another one?” 

“Kirley’s five. And, yes, we’re having another one. I’m having another one.” 

“Well, can’t it … can’t it wait? I told you to wait until retirement.” “You want me to have a baby on the pitch? I probably shouldn’t be flying anymore.” Catriona felt guilty; she should’ve divulged this earlier. 

“You fell thirty feet yesterday!” Mr. Ferguson gestured at her and ignored her when she said she felt fine. When they finished breakfast, he ordered her back upstairs and came into Kirley’s room with a medi-wizard. George came in with them. 

“Get out,” said Catriona flatly. 

“Cat, poor George is worried about you,” said Ferguson. 

“I’m fine, thank you. Now get out.” Catriona sighed when George stormed out. She laid down on the bed and ignored the medi-wizard’s lecture. The medi-wizard took a listen with the fetal stethoscope. “Are we good?” 

“You’re not playing today,” said Ferguson flatly. 

“We are in the middle of a tournament,” said Catriona. Were 1:1. You just said … Peter can't function without me. Don’t be ridiculous.” 

The medi-wizard shifted her tools and asked them to stop arguing. Miss, you’re not playing for a while. At least the rest of the season. It moves fast. This one." 

"Does it?” Catriona started crying when this finally set in. When Mr. Ferguson tried to comfort her, she shook her head vigorously. The fact that it was perfectly fine made her cry harder, though she didn't know why. The medi -wizard almost apologized and left the bedroom without giving congratulations. “Damn it.” 

“Mummy,” said Kirley, worried. 

“Mummy’s got some news. Come over here, son.” Mr. Ferguson placed his hands on Kirley’s shoulders. “You’re going to have to help her. You’re a big brother. Can I get you anything, Little Cat?”  
“A Time Turner?” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and relaxed a little at the sound of Ferguson’s nervous laughter. “Ferguson. I’m done.” 

“Yeah, but…” Mr. Ferguson nodded at George Davies who stood outside the door. “Come on, Little Cat. You don’t … you won’t want to come back, Catriona?” 

She shook her head. “I’m going home. I want to sleep now. Can you take Kirley for a moment? I … I need a minute. Please.” 

“Come on, son. Do you need me to contact anyone, Little Cat?” He shrugged when she said no and went to take a walk. 

George locked the door behind himself. “Catriona.” 

“Five children for you. You’re a busy, busy man.” She laughed madly when he said he’d help her however he could. “No, you won’t. Let’s be honest. I have two children, and you will stay far, far away from them, Mr. Davies. There's a chance this one probably aren't even yours, which is good, for that let's you off the hook." 

"It isn't mine. I've decided. This isn't my problem." George took the bait, and why would't he? 

"Of course not." 

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, agitated, marching towards the door. "I'm married. You're a dirty whore. We're done." 

 

She no longer cared. What did any of it even matter? Catriona faded into the background, although Mr. Ferguson gave her the curtesy of choosing a replacement. In late December, she showed up at practice in a plain dress and a traveling cloak. As practice wrapped up at dark, she wished the others Merry Christmas and nodded to Mr. Ferguson, who sat in the stands smoking. She climbed up the stairs, groaning when her foot got caught, and jumped when Peter McCormack Apparated at her side. 

"Need a hand?" Peter grinned from ear-to-ear, fresh off his high from saving every goal in practice. He snorted when she said no and ran a hand through his blonde locks. "So, you're cutting off that foot when it goes dead? Sounds like sprain to me. Hanging around?" 

"I forgot the trick step." Catriona placed her hand around his neck. "I'm heavy." 

"You're getting as big as a house. Mum calls this matronly. Come on." Deaf to her objections, Peter freed her and lifted her into his arms. Their teammates wolf-whistled from the pitch, and Peter blushed, leaving his Silver Arrow in the stands. His knees buckled, but he said nothing when Catriona apologized, insisting he put her down. "You're pretty, and you smell nice." 

"I'm huge," she said, giving up as he carried her. He gave a noncommittal grunt and veered off towards the changing rooms. Peter set her down and picked up an open envelope that fell out of her handbag; he held it out of her reach when she grabbed for it. "Peter." 

"What's this? A love letter? Oh, no, it's from St. Mungo's. Why're you panicking? Haven't you heard? I've taken you to appointments so often Witch Weekly says..." Peter shook the document and read it. He slammed into the lockers and went as white as a sheet and struggled to find his voice. "I'm ... I'm a daddy."

"I was going to tell you last week,"she said, gaping at him when he got up, walked over to her, got down on one knee, and took her hand. Embarrassed, she flushed with color and hissed at him to get up. 

"I thought about making this move months ago," he said, pressing his lips to her hand. He muttered that he had no ring, and now that he was at it, he tripped over whatever he planned to say in the first place. Peter stood up."Maybe Ferguson suspects something... he handed me the Captaincy when you left." 

"Wonder who gave him that idea that? You need to put Portman through the paces." She kissed him. "Yes." 

"Really? I didn't even ..." Peter hugged her, deciding it might be best not to critique himself. He stopped, frowning a little. Catriona understood they were friends, more than friends. Until very recently, lonely, they made love in this locker room night after night after practice; he muttered that he wasn't the least bit surprised about the pregnancy. "At the rate we were going, it was bound to happen. Oh, God. Mr. Ferguson." 

Mr. Ferguson clung to a no fraternization rule. She confessed about George Davies, despite the fact that they had an open relationship and had never officially been more than friends turned to passionate lovers. 

"I left the team, Peter." Catriona sighed when he buried his face after in her neck. "This turns you on? No, Peter. You're Captain." 

"So what? So were you." Peter grabbed a clipboard and other stuff about the training program. "And I knew about Davies. He's got a big mouth, which isn't a smart move because his writer buddies could've stabbed him in the back." 

"That makes it worse." Catriona had married herself to a double standard and ran her hands down her dress and went to use the bathroom . Putting on sheer tights proved a nightmare these days. Peter made a tutting sound and followed her back onto the pitch. She got the Quaffle out of the crate and asked them to form a circle. 

"Little Cat, you're not on the team anymore," said Ferguson, walking briskly down to the pitch. 

"On the ground safe and sound, Mr. Ferguson," she said, tossing the Quaffle to Stirling, a Beater. He dropped it. Peter, nodded, circling them as he marched around. He saw her point. Stirling picked it up and tossed it outside the circle to Peter, saying they needed a Keeper. When the Quaffle finally got back around to Catriona, she sped things up and put it into play. "Where's the trust, people?" 

Stirling, a black, burly wizard who matched Peter's build, although he was a head shorter, spun the Quaffle round his back, tossed it into the air, caught it, and passed it on to another Chaser. It started raining. She wasn't Captain anymore, and chances were, she'd never compete professionally again, but they kept their grumbling at a low volume. McPherson, the Seeker, thrust the Quaffle back at Catriona and hit her in the face. Something snapped. Catriona, surprised, covered her face and fell back. 

"What the hell, Colin?" Peter rushed over to Catriona and pulled her to her feet. "Are you all right? Here." 

"I'm fine," said Catriona, slapping his hand away after he ignored her and fixed her noise with a quick spell. Ferguson handed her a Pride of Portree t-shirt as a makeshift handkerchief. Dizzy, she leaned on Ferguson. When McPherson started to storm off the pitch, she called after him, "Say whatever you need to, Colin. We're family. Let's get it all out in the open." 

"Family? That's rich. You're a dirty, dirty whore who opens your legs for anyone and everyone, as I hear it." Colin McPherson marched back over her. He stabbed a finger into her chest when Peter reminded him he spoke to a Captain. "She's not my Captain. I had the room next to yours, Catriona, and the walls were thin. George Davies said you were his fucking horse because he rode you night after night. That bastard of yours? Is it his? Bet he loved fucking you."'

"You're out of order," said Peter, stepping in between him and Catriona. 

"You're having another bastard. You belong in a brothel. You got away with it because you're Captain. Ferguson didn't know. We have standards." McPherson laughed when Catriona wiped a tear away and started walking off. "My turn, Little Cat? Trust? You threw away the championship!" 

"I'm sorry." She stared at the ground. McPherson shoved her back and spit in her face before he stalked off. Peter got out his wand, but she grabbed his wrist, staying his hand. The rest of the team, though they didn't say anything, mumbled whatever they'd been holding back and traipsed towards the changing rooms. Only Stirling, Peter, and Mr. Ferguson remained. Her dress clung to her skin. When Peter tried to comfort her, Catriona sobbed. "Please don't." 

"Cat," said Stirling, putting the Quaffle back in the chest and locking it. 

"I did this. Every word he said ... I am a whore. I don't even know why. I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am." Catriona walked off, not even sure where she was headed. She Apparated home. Peter followed her, and she gave a frustrated sigh when she spotted him at the Apparition point. She relieved the babysitter and scooped a tired Kirley into her arms. "How are you?" 

"Sleepy," he said. 

"Me, too. And hungry. You want some breakfast?" She smiled when Kirley said she was always hungry. Peter said she shouldn't carry the boy around and unlocked her door; he had a spare key. "Go home, Peter." 

"I am home." Peter went upstairs to change and set to work in the kitchen. Onions, potatoes, and peppers chopped themselves. Bacon sizzled in a frying pan as he fried eggs in another pan. Kirley, watched, impressed, because his mother wasn't this great of a cook. Catriona went to take a shower and came back to find Kirley passed out on the couch. She sat down at the breakfast table and kissed Peter. "How's my fiancée? Fat and happy?" 

"You have a strange preference," said Catriona, tasting the egg. "I eat this all the time. And those pastries? The chocolate filled crescent rolls? The baker across the way knows me by name. It's bad." 

"Breakfast three times a day? Here." Peter offered her two green apples. She ate everything. "Good thing I know how to cook. You'd starve my boy." 

"Your boy?" Catriona, confused, frowned at him. Peter went over and picked up Kirley. He walked around with him and took him off to bed. While they were gone, she debated the best way to turn him down. She'd taken George Davies's job after it was determined he was a wayward drunkard who slept around. She'd start in May. "Peter, I can do this alone. I have no idea how. But we'll be fine." 

"You're my family," he said simply. "You'll have to move. Us and three kids in here? This won't work. Poor Kirley.”  
Catriona phrased this carefully, not wanting to anger him but wanting him to hear this all the same. She spoke slowly. “You’re moving in?” 

“Or you’re moving in. I’m not moving here. No. Or we’re moving.” Peter frowned when she dropped her fork and heaved herself from the table. He laughed. “What’s the big deal? We’re getting married!” 

“Night, Peter. Let yourself out.” 

Catriona washed up and headed into the sitting room. She hated the damned piece of paper. Why did she have to know? She’d raise Kirley on her own without help from anyone for six years, and Peter walked in here and he’s his boy? What was that? George probably didn't even know Kirley’s middle name. And she saw nothing funny about this. Catriona couldn't afford a family home. With Barnabas postponing her start date for the slightest complaints over her writing portfolio, she had no money coming in at the moment except for the stupid pieces she got off the village newspaper as a freelance writer. 

“What’s the problem?” Peter sat beside her and put his arm over her shoulder. 

“I’m fine.” 

“I really hate when you say that.” 

“I can’t afford a dress. I had an interview at the Daily Prophet, and I wore this dress I purchased at a secondhand shop.” Catriona told him how much food cost in the last month, and she'd barely made rent. “And you want a wedding? I can’t afford my kids, and George …” 

“…needs to be taken to court,” said Peter. 

Peter, a child of an ugly divorce, especially since parents didn't divorce back in the day, rattled on about child support. Whether or not she wanted to be the stubborn, independent mother was one thing. If George Davies wanted to go public about Kirley, he needed to step up and be even a deadbeat dad by sorry standards. 

“You’re not some sad, sorry woman here, Catriona. You made your bed, so lie in or whatever, but George owes that boy something. You fight for that. You’re lucky these other one isn't his, or you’d be in a world of hurt. I’ll go after him as his step-father.” Peter patted her on the leg. “Kirley’s yours.” “He’s mine.” Catriona nodded, showing him an application for another newspaper. Peter, smiling, shook his head and showed her an advertisement for a position in another paper, the Daily Prophet itself. Driving his point home, he circled something with a quill. “Commentator for the Pride of Portree?”  
“Yeah.” Peter clapped her on the shoulder. “Guess who’s part owner now?” 

“Mr. Francis Ferguson,” she said, smiling. 

“Yeah. Go with me.” Peter got to his feet and fumbled around for her Floo Powder on her mantlepiece. “It’s Erickson. Kirley Erickson Duke. Not that you asked.” 

Catriona nodded, not really sure what to say here, so she said nothing. Ferguson got out of bed for his Captain for whatever reason. Catriona had rarely used this card, but she enjoyed watching Peter McCormack play his hand. No matter how you sliced it, Catriona couldn't be unbiased, but she could set outside herself to do the job at the end of the day. Ferguson sneezed and inhaled soot as she gave him this spiel. When he came back, hacking a little, she waited on baited breath. 

“Get her off the floor, Pete,” he said. 

Peter offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. 

“Catriona, you are no longer on the team.” Ferguson rolled his eyes when Catriona said she’d left the team. He nodded, complained of the stress on his neck, and considered the offer. “What do you want? Is there anything else I should know about? Anything at all?” 

“Yeah. We, er, can I get out of jail free card for this?” hedged Peter, suddenly nervous. Mr. Ferguson said he had no earthly idea what he was talking about, so Peter jumped into an edited explanation of a Muggle board game called Monopoly. Ferguson gave him a slow uncertain yes. “I’m the father.” 

“Catriona.” 

“Mr. Ferguson.” Catriona protected herself by being formal with this man. 

“When you give me the truth, I expect the whole thing.” Ferguson didn’t sound too surprised about this. In fact, unless she was gravely mistaken and reading this completely wrong, he didn't appear disappointed. He’d lightened when Peter tossed in the bit about marriage. “Am I invited?” 

“To what?” Catriona shrugged, lost. She caught on a moment later, negotiating with him light-heartedly, though this was no joking. “Do I have a tryout?” 

“He’s been waiting for you to ask,” said Peter genially, resting a hand on her shoulder. 

“About the wedding or the commentator thing?” Catriona frowned at Ferguson. “There will be no wedding because we’re only signing papers. No wedding. But, yes, you can stand witness and there may or may not be drinks to follow.” 

 

She got her first shot with the new year on a cold January morning. Even if she’d done the whole thing perfectly, people in the stands would’ve called her biased. She definitely leaned towards the Pride, and Peter found the whole thing hilarious as he circled the goalposts. The other team, a wild card, Puddlemere United, probably thought he had a laugh at them, probably thought he was having a laugh at them. 

He earned a Bludger to the head for his stupidity and banged into the posts foot for foot before crashing down to earth.

“Oh, my God! Move, move!” Catriona rushed out of the stands as fast as her swollen feet would carry her. Ferguson, nervous, rushed over to help her and looked much less worried over her husband. She’d abandoned her post, which reporters and spectators told her off for. When she finally got down to the pitch, Peter had come around and appeared cross-eyed. “Are you all right?” 

Puddlemere’s Chaser took an opportunity to score ten points. Catriona answered him with a rude hand gesture and shouted, “Time out!” 

Peter, following the beam of light from the medi-wizard’s wand said, “You can’t do that.” 

“Nobody asked you! Shut up. TIME OUT!” Catriona roared at the Prides. 

Catriona glared at the rest of the team until a sea of people in deep purple robes surrounded her. Stirling, forever her loyal watchdog, dismounted last and skidded to the earth. She signaled to the referee. After commenting for the last hour and a half, her voice sounded raw and raspy. Stirling and Jasper, the Beaters, caught the first earful as she flipped off the Puddlemere Chaser again. 

“What the hell was that?” she demanded as the referee blew her whistle and awarded a penalty to the Prides. “You guard five people. How hard is that? You know better! Stirling!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” muttered Stirling, the stronger Beater, apologizing to Peter. 

“I’m fine,” said Peter, waving the medi-wizard away impatiently, not bothering to wipe the blood off his face or wait for a proper head check. Catriona stood her ground, crossed her arms over her belly and tapped her foot. “Fine. Run through the examination, please.” 

“Colin, they’re out for blood, buddy. You stay clear.” Catriona gave him a thumbs-up before five of the seven players zoomed back up towards the sky. Stirling stayed behind. The medi-wizard asked Peter to kick her hand. Catriona, acknowledging the referee’s whistle because they were out of time, knelt awkwardly next to Stirling. “Peter, do as she says. Hard as you can.” 

“I am.” Peter sighed when the medi-wizard asked him again. But his foot didn't move. “I got it.” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Pete,” said the mede-wizard kindly, exchanging a look with Catriona. She took off his cleat and sock. “Let’s try this. Pete, wiggle your toes.” 

“Peter, reach for me. Peter? Wave at me with your foot. Not your hand, baby, your foot.” Panicking and irritated, she signed the last maneuver for him one-handed and then realized these were confusing orders. So she stopped. Peter told the medi-wizard this was ridiculous. He didn’t know he wasn’t moving! “Peter, baby, come on. “ 

The medi-wizard frowned at Catriona as she checked Peter’s reflexes. Nothing. His knee stayed still. She asked Ferguson or Stirling to take Catriona back to the commentator’s box. 

“No, no. Peter. I want to stay with him.” Catriona screamed when Stirling lifted her into his arms. Her weight, the difference that had thrown Peter off less than a month ago, didn't seem to bother Stirling at all. He ignored her screams and orders. Last year, she would’ve thrown him off the team for this. “How dare you! Am I nothing to you? Put me down!” 

“No, Catriona. The match is over,” said Stirling to the referee. He carted Catriona off the pitch. She caught a flash of a camera as they passed and wondered if this was George Davies for a moment before she imagined Peter pulling himself by his upper body strength. Instead of heading back towards the commentator’s box, Stirling dumped her in the locker room. “Calm yourself, Catriona.” 

Jasper sat on the bench opposite. “The Dragon’s fine, Little Cat.” 

They all had their little nicknames, and it appeared, Catriona hadn’t dropped hers. Mr. Ferguson was one thing; Stirling was QuickSilver, though they usually stuck with Stirling. Catriona took the goblet of water Jasper conjured for her and squeezed Sterling’s hand. He kept asking her questions, annoying, fretful questions, and actually knew what Braxton Hicks were. The guys stared at him, aghast. 

“Got a sister with kids. Shut up.” Stirling placed his other hand on Catriona’s back. “You can say I’m right. I’m right, aren’t I? Stirling knows his feminine … stuff. Least I didn’t throw you over my shoulder.” 

“It’s passing,” she said, leaning on Stirling. He hugged her until she said she was all right. “And thank you for not showing me off. I nearly had an accident with my sheer tights the other night. Peter had to help me.” 

“Ah, the beauty of breeding,” said Jasper, laughing his head off and setting his Beater bat against the lockers. “Can you imagine Pete and the sex jokes? Bet you nearly freaking pissed yourself laughing.” 

Catriona, blushing, buried her reddening face in her hands. The ones who had been on the Prides for forever and day understood Peter McCormack for being Peter McCormack; he got down to business when he needed to, but he was a jokester at heart. There was only one woman on the team, Claire McIvory, but she laughed along with them. 

Peter came in an hour and a half later limping, hobbling along like an old man leaning on an umbrella for a staff. Stirling Dempsey waited because Stirling always waited for his man to come home. Catriona might've tied the knot with Peter McCormack, yet she shared him. The others had been excused by Ferguson ages ago. Catriona had paced back-and-forth, back-and-forth and considered worst case scenarios. She'd imagined Peter paralyzed, a quad paraplegic. He'd dodged a bullet. 

 

Easter lasted forever. She woke up Sunday morning in damp sheets, though the pains had started earlier. Peter had kept Kirley downstairs and kept him distracted with breakfast in the middle of the night, but he raced around like a chicken with its head cut off. The midwife arrived shortly after eight. 

"You're ready, ma'am," he said after a quick examination. 

"Thank God." Catriona, exhausted, lay back on the pillows. She wondered why she got a male midwife and forgot about the religious holiday. The midwife, as luck would have it, was called George. George told Peter he could wait outside because it wouldn't be long, but Peter shook his head and walked over to take Catriona's hand. "You don't want to see this. It hurts." 

"It hurts for a reason, dear," said George, washing his hands in the bathroom.

"What the hell do you know?" Catriona wanted to slap Peter when he started laughing and drew a chair in midair. "How's Kirley? You have to stay with him because he'll think we've had a baby and forgotten about him." 

"He's sleeping," said Peter calmly, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. He got her through a couple contractions and nodded when the midwife gave him instructions. He relaxed when George showed them a girl. George started running through his check before he rushed back over. "What is it?" 

George repositioned himself on the stool. He checked and rested his hands on Cstriona's legs. "She's got a sister. Or a brother." 

"What?" Catriona, wide-eyed, lifted her head and started cursing fluently. 

George chuckled, saying this one must've been hiding. And he'd gotten that reaction once before. Peter, speechless, gaped at the midwife. She told George she hated him on principle. Minutes later, she held a wrapped bundle whilst Peter, quite as shocked as she was, held the other one. As he cleaned up and gathered his things, George said they were identical twins. He wished they luck and a Happy Easter before he stepped out. 

"Cat. Say something." Peter studied her face. 

"Shit." Catriona held the baby to her chest and chose to feed the other one first. "What're we going to do?" 

Peter snorted and laughed. He took the other baby and cast a Germinio Charm on the bassinet; it was a tight fit in their bedroom. They lived in a new house now, but the nursery had bern prepped for one not two. Peter walked around, his hands in his pockets, throwing out suggestions. When one started crying, the other one reeved up. Kirley definitely woke up to a chocolate bunny and a surprise. 

"What're you calling them?" Kirley held them awkwardly in his arms as Peter took a few quick photos. 

"Well, we decided on Meaghan, that's this one," said Peter slowly, taking one baby and supporting her head. He handed the other one off to Catriona to feed. He set Meaghan down. Catriona had chosen that name, so this was Peter's choice. "Màirèad?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Feeling strangely calm and content as love washed over her, Catriona raised her eyebrows at him and grinned at his deer in the headlights look. "Meaghan and Màirèad McCormack. You should see your face." 

Peter, panicked, bustled around the hose making preparations. He grabbed Kirley for this or that whilst Catriona hung out in the bedroom with the girls. Ferguson showed up later that afternoon positively beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He'd thankfully come with baskets of baby things because the twins had arrived early. Stirling showed up an hour later. 

He opened a bag, complaining of a lot of shops being closed today, and waved two plush toy dragons in the air. Peter gave him a high-five. Stirling also brought Easter dinner and large chocolate eggs. If and when the world failed to make sense, in Peter’s view, going by his logic, the world made more sense with Stirling Dempsey in it. The stupid expression stayed etched into his face, but Peter’s friend stayed with them late into the evening. They survived the first night.

Five years passed. The day after the girls got swimming lessons, Stirling Dempsey and Jasper Irving showed up at five in the morning. Catriona, still asleep, picked up either Meaghan or Màirèad and went to answer the door. She answered the door with a black expression and took to realize she stood in her night things in front to the Pride of Portree Beaters. 

Jasper, smirking, waved his hand vigorously in front of her face. “Are you in there?” 

“Jasper.” She snapped the elastic band off her wrist and tied her hair back. Stirling handed her a tall coffee. “Thank you.” 

“Stirling,” said Stirling, supplying his name like he intended to jar her memory. 

“Stirling!” Kirley tore down the corridor and ran towards him. Stirling leaned his broom against the doorframe and picked up the eleven-year-old. “Can we go now?” 

“Go where?” asked Meaghan or Màrirèad. 

“Bed. Please for the love of God, say bed,” said Catriona. “Bed, Mere.” 

“What’s she sayin’?” asked Jasper, turning to Stirling and scratching his chin. 

“Oh, Captain, my Captain, you are disappointing us. Who’s the bitch who used to drag us out of bed at dawn for chitchat?” Stirling edited this sentence a bit when two children gaped at him. “Yeah. I meant witch. Witch. Keep up, guys. And that’s Meaghan. Catriona. Where you at?” 

“Cat? It’s five.” Peter waved at his Beaters and ducked out to get dressed. 

“Come in. Good coffee.” Catriona stepped aside and shouted at Peter to grab their other daughter. If she couldn't sleep, nobody was sleeping. She asked if she had permission to get dressed, making Jasper grin. She put Meaghan down and dashed off to the bedroom, coffee in hand. “Damn it, Peter.” 

“I remember a woman called Duke hauling us out onto the pitch at, like, three. Pitch dark.” Peter finished brushing his teeth and pecked her on the cheek and shaking his head when she tried to kiss him. “Stinky morning breath. No, thanks. Guys are waiting, Hurry up.” 

“I led you to two League championships. You’re welcome!” Catriona changed into an old Portree t-shirt and jeans before grabbing a purple jumper and some trainers. She rushed in the bathroom and went back into the sitting room. Peter had gotten the kids dressed, and Catriona guessed this had been done in record time. Awake now. “Gentlemen.” 

“And she’s back. Come on. Outside.” Stirling took her cup and went to grab her a refill in the kitchen. Catriona followed Peter and the others outside. Peter handed Catriona her broom, hesitated before he snatched a kid, and chose Kirley. Kirley whooped. Stirling, take Meaghan, please. Meaghan.” 

“Keep your eyes and your eyes open. I know, Dad.” Meaghan shouted gleefully when Stirling lifted her onto his broom, a Shooting Star, and swept into warm-up exercises. 

“You or me, Jasper?” Catriona switched to her tattered cleats. 

“I want you to see how amazing your mother is. Let’s get the morning started, shall we, Little Cat?” Jasper and Catriona kicked off at the same time. Catriona knew she wouldn't be so nervous without Màrirèad as passenger. 

“Hold on. Tighter. Don’t look down, Mere.” 

Catriona kicked off the ground and accelerated to catch up with Stirling and Jasper. Deliriously happy, because she hadn’t been up in the air simply to get this rush from flying for ages and ages. Even at this distance, Catriona could tell Meaghan was more comfortable on a broom than her sister. There were times, not often, but often enough, when Catriona had to actually to remind herself that her daughters were two separate people. She sighed when Màriréad redoubled her death grip. 

“I’ve got you, dearie,” she said softly. She looked up, shocked to see Meaghan rising ever so slowly to get to her feet. She parked her butt when Catriona gave her the look. “Yeah, that’s you, miss. Stirling? Stirling! Meaghan Agnes, don’t you ever do that again!” 

Stirling reached over to adjust Meaghan’s grip and winked at her. Meaghan giggled at whatever he said. Peter, talking al the while to Kirley, looped through them like a man doing acrobatics with ease. And Kirley, being Kirley, had a blast. Catriona nodded as Mere pointed out a thin man standing in the middle of their land. Windswept, she and Peter sped back towards the earth together and dismounted their brooms. 

“Can I go with Jasper, Dad? Can I? Can I, Dad?” Kirley tugged the sleeve of Peter’s robes. 

“No, you can’t,” said a voice. George Davies, his arms crossed, turned to face Catriona and Peter. Catriona forgot they were meeting today, and they'd spent some time flying. “How stupid are you? Come here, Kirley.” 

Kirley looked questioningly at Peter, who took his hand. 

“He’s my son,” said George evenly. 

“Oh, you want to be a father now? Why? Because he’s going Hogwarts this year? Needed to weed out that your eldest wasn't an embarrassment or a Squib?” Peter approached George, not backing down. His patience evaporated. “Mr. Davies, let me tell you something. A sperm donation, whilst it’s certainly appreciated, does not make you a father.” 

 

“Peter. George.” Catriona stood in between them as they drew their wands and placed a hand on George’s chest. Kirley knew George was his father. Catriona had dropped the fake RAF airman in favor of being honest with her boy. She checked George. “George. Come on, Peter will beat your ass from here to Sunday single-handed.” 

“Seriously, George. Tell me one thing you’ve done for this boy.” Peter lowered his wand first. George mentioned a wizard’s chess set for Christmas last year. “Nope. I bought that. I wrote that it was from you. When is his birthday?” 

“February,” said George, nodding at Kirley. “February twenty-first.” 

“George,” said Catriona, truly sad for him. “That’s your boy’s birthday. Kirley was born on Valentine’s Day.” 

“No.” George did not accept this. 

“George, I spent two days in labor with this kid. I was there, so I think I’d know, thank you very much.” Catriona scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. Mere had wandered off to join Stirling and Jasper. “He was seven pounds, three ounces, born at five thirty-three in the afternoon. You were at dinner with your wife.” 

“On Valentine’s Day,” he said weakly, caught between a rock and a hard place. “You’re supposed to be with your wife.” 

“Not blaming you here, George, I’m stating the facts. Kirley is mine.” Catriona laid down the law, putting this row to rest. He is your son, but he is my boy. How many times do you need to hear that? You’re his father. Fine. Peter is his dad. Peter counts. Deal with it.” 

She stalked away, furious about her ruined day. 

“Catriona!” George shouted after her. “Don’t you dare walk away from me. You want a fight? I’ll take …” 

George went silent when Stirling, Jasper, and Peter waited for him to finish that sentence. 

“Oh, please do, Mr. Davies. They’ll backdate your child support. Give me a fight., and I shall go to hell for my son. Get a lawyer. A good one!” Catriona walked backwards, facing him, and flipped him off with both hands. “Fuck you, sir. Carry on. Good day to you.” 

She gave him a mock curtsy and headed back towards the house.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I read that Catriona McCormack was a Quidditch player. That family sounds really, really cool. I did a little researching and this idea popped into my head. 
> 
> Hope you liked it. Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.


End file.
